


Born In A Bloody Room

by ashatasha



Category: AR∀GO ロンドン市警特殊犯罪捜査官 | Arago
Genre: Gen, Open to Interpretation, POV Second Person, brionac is a bitch, but i did have some friends skim it over for glaring mistakes, i barely edited this and it prob shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 02:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12422958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashatasha/pseuds/ashatasha
Summary: Bodies can't last forever.





	Born In A Bloody Room

**Author's Note:**

> *throws into the void* hey so im writing increasingly dramatic and angsty things and idk how nor why

You’re crumbling.

 

This body resisted for so long, but all good things have to come to an end.  You’ve had a good run, you suppose.  The golden days: beating up monsters, chasing criminals, wild adventures that make you think of fairy tales.  Never eating, barely sleeping.  It was all worth it for the rush of adrenaline and excitement pumping through your body, for the satisfaction of seeing another life saved.

 

Now, you’re beginning to regret it.  If you’d let go earlier, given up the cursed power while you were ahead, maybe this could be avoided.  Now your body is falling apart, and you can’t help but think, _was it worth it?_

 

The agony is sweltering.  You had a nasty fever, once, as a kid.  Temperature past 40 degrees Celsius.  You were burning then, but now it’d feel like a chilly breeze.  Your skin bubbles and roils as Brionac eats you alive from the inside out.  It’s too late to expel the seed.  Or rather, it’s impossible for you to expel the seed when every cell in you is screaming, rioting.  Thought is a myth that wisps by every few hours (or is it days? weeks?).  Clarity is a far off dream.

 

Someone’s calling out your name.  “Shit, he’s bitten through his tongue,” she cries out, and hands fumble clumsily at your face.  Something gets shoved into your mouth, keeping it open.  Your screams don’t stop—maybe you weren’t screaming in the first place.  The ringing in your ears keep you from understanding as someone tries talking to you, and you loll your head back to peer sightlessly into the distance.

 

At some point, you can make out noise again.  Talking.  “We can’t keep him like this!” a man snaps.  Desperate, hard tone.  “It’s cruel, it’s—goddamn it, it’s inhumane!”

 

“So you think we should kill him?”  High pitched.  Hysterical, almost.  You blink open burning eyes to see two figures arguing passionately at your bedside.   _Friends_ , you think, _allies_.  One of them is holding a knife.  Everything else is too blurry to make out, but you guess rage on their faces.

 

 _Kill me_ , you think.   _Please_.

 

And with sudden, surreal clarity: _I might go insane if you don’t_.

 

They continue arguing, even as you drift in and out.  “Yes, I do!  Look at him.  His limbs are rotting off, he’s been delirious with pain for weeks, he might already be brain-dead for all we know!” the man shouts.

 

“He still responds sometimes!” the woman screams right back.  “We could—we could give him new body parts.  Something.  Prosthetics, even!  This doesn’t have to be the end!”

 

The world goes ringingly silent.  “New body parts, that’s—we can’t do that.  You _know_ we can’t do that,” the man finally says.

 

 _But wouldn’t that be nice_ , you wonder dimly.  A body that isn’t on fire, something new to give you some more time.  The more you think about it, the more appealing it is.  It’s just a fantasy, one you can only entertain now while your mind is able.  You gaze up at them, stare blank as it plays out in your head.

 

The knife in the man’s hand.  The stitching supplies on the table for after you’d first clawed yourself bloody through the pain.  Two distracted, functioning bodies.  They’d gasp, they’d beg, and they’d scream, but it’d almost be worth it to escape your agony.

 

A sweet, painless future is so close you can almost grab it.  You blink, heaving out a shuddering breath—

 

And suddenly you’re surrounded by blood.  Scraps of skin, discarded body parts.  Tightness from where stitches dig into your skin.

 

It doesn't hurt anymore.


End file.
